


there's thunder in our hearts

by battour



Category: Karneval
Genre: Gen, Implied Relationships, Implied one-sided attraction, M/M, Minor Character Death, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 10:58:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1742315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/battour/pseuds/battour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Then, just like that, he turns his back to Akari. Like it's nothing.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	there's thunder in our hearts

Those in Circus are terribly efficient killers. Akari is well aware of how easily they can break bones like dry branches, and he knows full well that Hirato is among the best of the best, as much as he hates to admit that. He's seen him break necks and crush skulls like it's nothing, and he's certainly seen him run that cane of his through more than one chest.

He knows all these facts like the pockets of his lab coat, but the blood that stains Hirato's gloved hands now seems surreal. The body crumpled by the bushes, the thin trails of red that lead to it, and the identity of said body are what make this situation seem so surreal.

Akari doesn't realize until Hirato approaches, slow step by slow step, that he's sunk down onto his knees. He also doesn't realize just how badly he's shaking (like a dry leaf in the wind) until now. Nor does he realize Hirato is saying something until he sees his lips move, but not a single sound reaches his ears.

Hirato looks down at him from behind those unkempt bangs, something odd in his expression. The usual deviousness is nowhere to be found.

Blankness.

 _No._ It isn't concern. This bastard feels nothing of the sort. His brain must lack the necessary components for experiencing emotion.

He moves to extend a hand to Akari, freezes in the middle of the motion, then takes his soiled gloves off like it's nothing. Though the hand offered anew is clean, the faint traces of blood on Hirato's cheek shatter the illusion that everything is fine. They remind Akari far too much of what he has on _his_ cheek.

"Akari-san--"

Akari slaps his hand away (as hard as he can possibly manage) on pure instinct, trying to will his voice to remain steady. How heavy his breathing grows with each heartbeat is lost upon him.

" _Don't touch me._ "

Hirato withdraws, not a hint of pain on his part, and looks at Akari as if he's a particularly puzzling crossword. Then, he smiles a very hollow sort of smile and bows half-heartedly.

"As you wish, doctor. I'll call for someone else to take care of matters here."

Then, just like that, he turns his back to Akari. Like it's nothing.

Deep down, Akari knows that Hirato's actions were correct.

  



End file.
